Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
by Nauriel Rochnur
Summary: When Mary intervenes in a gang related dog fighting ring, she learns that her newest witness is wanted by that very gang. As always, Marshall is by her side. Rate T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**My first submission to this site, and my first IPS fanfic ever! How exciting. **

**I was inspired to write this by my absolutely undying love for In Plain Sight and all the anger that builds and builds as I watch Animal Cops. **

**Please R&R. Pretty please?**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can claim no part of In Plain Sight as my own. This is probably a good thing, considering I would jump Marshall so fast you'd think you were in time warp. **

You know those days? The kind that start off kinda sucky, and only get worse and worse as the day goes on until you would actually welcome death as a blessed release? Well, that's my day. Today. Let me start you off. My mother, who finally managed to convince me that she is in a stable job with a steady income, just announced she was fired. Personally I'm surprised, seeing how as I was sure she would lose interest in any job long before her boss even had the chance to fire her. That's just how she is. But unfortunately that means she has no income, and so feels obliged by some backwards satanic logic to help herself to everything in my house.

And if that were my only problem…my sled of a car finally bit the big one and is now driving on that big racetrack in the sky. Not surprising, but saddening all the same. I might actually feel sorry for her, had she not died in the middle of this rundown shanty town. That in itself is not entirely bad, except for the fact that my phone also died. Geese, I should start my own cemetery.

Also, Marshall, the one human on the planet with the ability to somewhat cool me down from this all too familiar feeling called rage is at the office. So that means that I have to walk through this god forsaken place looking for a payphone that hasn't been vandalized beyond repair. And I've got to tell you, this isn't the safest of neighborhoods. Oh sure, I know what you're thinking. "But you're a badass US Marshall. Why are you afraid?" Well, I'll tell you this. I may be badass to the bone, but being a law enforcer doesn't make you immune to fear. Sure, the rigorous physical and mental training along with the handguns can definitely take off the edge, but anyone who doesn't feel fear the slightest bit of fear in a potentially dangerous situation is either severely brain damaged or taking some very potent mind altering drugs.

When I finally did find a pay phone I'm pretty certain I had left a time zone or two. I managed to fish out enough quarters to pay for a call and dialed Marshall's cell. The phone rang numerous times, without him answering. "By god Marshall, if you don't pick up…" I left the threat dangling. I like to keep my options open. Finally, the phone clicked and I heard Marshall's voice. "Marshall here, how-"

"Hey Marshall." I interjected, before he could spew the "how may I help you?" sort of crap that he bestowed upon those that called him. "What's up?"

There was a slight silence. "Mary?" He asked, somewhat confused.

"No Marshal. It's Santa Clause." I paused, just to let him know how much of an idiot he really was. "Of course it's Mary, dimwit."

"Whoa…." Marshal exclaimed. "Cool your horses. I just didn't know it was you. I just thought you'd call from your cell. Are you okay?"

From the tone of his voice I could tell he was worried. "No, I'm fine." I admitted, calming myself down. Marshal didn't really need me to be such a prick about it. "My cell just died, and so did my car. I need someone to pick me up and call a tow truck." I could hear Marshal push himself out of his chair.

"Where are you at?" He asked. I was about to tell him the address, when I heard a horrible racket. It was the sound of dogs, barking and growling, and the muffled voices of people cheering.

"Do you hear that?" I asked, even though I doubted he could hear through the phone.

"I'm not a bat." He muttered softly, hearing concern in my voice. "What is it?"

I pieced together the information that I had "I think there's a dogfight in the house near this payphone."

"Where are you?" Marshal asked again. "I'll call the police." I whispered the address, feeling my hip and ankle for the guns I had holstered. "Now just stick tight Mary." Marshal warned me. "A lot of people involved in dog fights are involved in gangs and worse." The yelp of a hurt dog made my cringe.

"Then hurry Marshal. I know I'm not the most cuddly of God's blessed creations, but even I don't like killing puppies." I glanced nervously at the house. I knew Marshal was right. Those that watched the fight were probably armed and dangerous – and outnumbered me – but I felt horrible listening the cries of the dogs forced to fight for their lives. "Call the police." I added sternly, even though he had already promised to do so. "And get over here quick."

"Will do." Marshall answered. He hung up the phone. I quietly placed the phone back on the receiver, as if those guys in the house could hear me above all the racket that they made. I swear to you, I honestly tried (somewhat and not completely) to tuck myself away in a sheltered space and wait for the cavalry to arrive. However, curiosity and anger got the best of me. I slunk around the side of the house, looking for any clue of the fight. I peered through the window well, catching glimpses of a crowd focused on something just out of my sight. "Where are you Marshall?" I muttered, glancing at my watch. Turning my attention back to the lame-ass view I had, I saw something that pulled my heart clear into my throat. A man separated from the crowd, walking towards the window I was looking through. At first I thought he held a pile of dirty rags in his hand, but then I realized those were no rags. He was carrying a limp dog, blood smeared and broken. The man tossed it to the side, like it was no more than a pile of garbage.

"That's it, dickwads." I growled, slinking back towards the front of the house. "Now you've really pissed me off." How could someone do that to a creature? Just throw it away like a piece of furniture? Furious beyond reason, grabbed the front door and pulled. It opened, and the sounds of the dog fight became louder and more distinct. "Idiots didn't even lock the door." I muttered under my breath as I pulled out my gun. Stepping inside as quietly as I could manage, I surveyed my surroundings. The house was messy, with fast food wrappers strewn on the floor, dirty clothes tossed in piles, and a retched stench to match. I headed for what I guessed was the basement. Intent as I was, I failed to notice the very large man looming in the bathroom doorway. I caught a glimpse of him, but only had time to mutter "aw, shit" before he swung at me. His punch hit me squarely on the side of the face, and I crumpled to the ground with consciousness quickly slipping away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two. FYI, this is from Marshall's point of view. **

**Please R&R. Don't make me beg. **

**Again: I do not own any part of In Plain Sight *insert joke about me lusting after Marshall***

"Okay. Thank you." I replied to the officer that had taken my call. Tossing the phone back onto its stand, I grabbed my coat and bolted for the door. Stan caught me, and poked his head out of the office.

"What's up Marshall?" he asked, his face etched with thin lines of concern.

"It's Mary." I relied. I saw a shiver run through Stan. He shifted his stance, obviously anxious. It hadn't been too long ago that Mary had been in a life threatening situation, and the shock hadn't quite worn off of Stan and me both.

"Is she okay?" he asked.

"Don't worry." I quickly added. "Her phone just died, and so did her ride. I'll have to pick her up." I inched closer to the door, hoping to escape without having to tell the whole truth. Unfortunately for me, Stan caught on. Damn, I never was good at lying.

"There's more, isn't there, Marshall?" He questioned. From the sternness in his voice I knew he wasn't kidding around. I guess Mary's ordeal had put Stan even more on edge than I realized.

"She…may have heard a dog fight in progress while she was talking to me." I answered, muttering the words as I tried to make the situation sound as harmless as possible. I'm quite certain I failed. "And I don't think she meant to stand around while she waited for back up."

Stan glared for a moment. "Dammit Mary." He growled. He pulled on his coat and stormed towards the door. "You called the police?" He shouted back at me, not even turning his head.

"Yep. They're on their way." I followed behind him, keeping pace with his quickening strides.

"Good. Get us there, and quick." Stan leapt nimbly into the passenger's seat of the SUV. I chose not to tell Stan that the police didn't want Marshals storming their party, though I doubt he would have cared at this point. I surely didn't.

The ride there was spent in silence, save for the occasional squeal of the tires. As I pulled onto the next road, it was immediately apparent that the police had arrived first, but not my much. Flashing lights and sirens blared through the streets. A couple men were being led away in cuffs, but it was obvious that many had escaped. I could see figures darting across lawns, and I almost hit an oncoming car as I had to avoid a man who dodged across the street. Slamming on the brakes, I pulled the SUV to a halt. Stan and I immediately leapt from our seats, pulling off our seatbelts like they were red hot metal. I sprinted towards the house, whereas Stan maintained a more dignified trot.

Suddenly rough hands grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. I glanced at the man who had grabbed me, a police officer. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away. You can't go in there."

"I'm a Marshal." I huffed, pulling out my badge. "My partner was here. Did you see her? She's blonde, tall…?" The policeman looked at me blankly. Dear lord, were these halfwits really the men that guarded our streets? I tried again. "My partner was here. She called me about the dog fight, and then I reported it to you. I don't see her here, and I want to know where she is."

The police officer nodded slowly, and then took an agonizing breath before he began to speak. I wanted to smack the side of his head! Mary was nowhere to be seen, and he was lollygagging? "We have officers searching the house as we speak. If you'd just wait here and let them do their job?" He motioned for me to step back, but I wasn't buying it. Stan came up beside me, glaring at the officer.

"Go ahead Marshall. Take a look inside and see if you can find her." Stan had apparently heard part of the conversation. "And I'll explain to our man in blue how much higher up in the law enforcement food chain I really am." I gave Stan a quick grin – I love it when he intimidates – but then bounded for the door. As I burst into the premise, a handful of surprised cops pulled their guns on me. A flash of my badge was enough to satiate them, but they still eyed me as I looked around the room. I was about to ask them if they had found anyone when an officer shouted. I heard the sounds of feet racing up steps, and an officer poked his head around the corner, apparently having just come up from the basement. "Call a medic!" He shouted. "There's someone down here, and she's hurt."

A lump formed in my chest. "She's hurt" could mean anything from 'a small cut' to 'close to death.' "Mary…. " I groaned, fearing the worst, then lunged for the stairs. I took them three at a time, and jumped the last four. My heart raced, and not just from the sprint down the stairs. "Where is she?" I shouted, looking around wildly. The basement was filthy, even worse than the upstairs. The unfinished concrete room was poorly lit by a single small light bulb. Drab, broken furniture littered the room in a style too haphazard to be considered functional. But the most eerie, chilling feature of the basement was the blood. The fighting pen—planks of plywood roughly pushed together to form a box—was left standing as the owners fled, and was smeared red with blood. A trail of it splattered a path to a dead dog thrown into the corner. I stood in shock for a moment, trying to take in the horror. It looked like a dungeon, or some medieval prison. Glancing around again, I spotted Mary. The knot in my chest grew, and every beat of my racing heart felt like a punch to the gut.

Mary was slumped in a chair, clearly unconscious but held in a sitting position by a few pieces of rope. Her head was tilted forward on a limp neck, sending her hair into a cascade around her face, concealing her features. I lifted her head and pushed her head back, cringing with sympathy as I saw the ugly bruise that marred the left side of her face. "Mary!" I called, gently shaking her. "You have to wake up. Mary, wake up!"

She stirred, but only a little, and didn't even open her eyes. "Just let me sleep, Marshall." She groaned softly.

No, this was not good, especially if she was sleepy. I tightened my grip on her shoulder, and shook a bit harder. "No Mary." I said firmly. I had to get her to wake up. "You need to stay awake. You might have a concussion." Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment stared directly into my own. "Wher-" she began to ask drowsily, but cut herself short as she glanced around. Her eyes widened, and her jaw visibly clenched. She tried to stand, but the ropes held her in place. "Get me out." She gasped, pulling at her bonds. Her face has pale white, drained of all color. A peculiar look was plastered on her face as she tried wildly to escape. Was that….terror? I gasped her by the shoulders, forcing her to face me. With my face only mere inches from her own, she stopped struggling, though her breath still came out as ragged pants.

"Get me out of here, Marshall." She begged. "Just…just get me out."

"Calm down." I whispered, staring intently into her eyes. Then suddenly, quick as a wink, I understood. Her desperation, her fear, her pleading... I understood why she acted so helpless when she was anything but. How long had it been since she had been trapped in a basement not unlike this one? Why had I not realized sooner that this very situation brought back memories for Mary so powerful she could not shove them away? "It's okay. I'll get you out." I stumbled over the words and concern obviously tainted my voice. Quickly running my hand along the length of the rope, I grappled with the knot until it came undone, than tore away the rope. Mary sprang from the chair and untangled herself from the line. In an effort to be rid of her bonds, she stumbled into me. I caught her, but instead of steadying her on her feet, I held her close in an embrace. I expected her to shove me away, call me a dork for being so sentimental, and then go on to burying her emotions like she always does. But she didn't. She reached out and returned the hug, clinging to me tightly. I could feel her tremble slightly, just for a moment. Stroking her head, I made myself take a deep breath. A sigh of relief, if you will. She was safe now. I could feel her, warm and secure in my embrace. She twisted slightly, pulling herself upright. I loosened my grip, but not entirely.

"Dear lord Marshall," Mary whispered, tilting her head to look into my eyes. "Flashbacks are a bitch." She chuckled weakly, and I flashed her a grin. Giving her one last squeeze, I pulled away, though I still kept an arm around her shoulder.

"Let's get you out of here." I suggested. She nodded, and I led her towards the stairs. It was no small relief when we exited the house for the fresh outdoor air. Mary relaxed considerably, but I didn't loosen my grip. Not yet, when she was possibly concussed. Surprisingly, there was an ambulance parked outside the premise. I pulled her in that direction.

"I'm fine Marshall." She protested, stopping in her tracks. "Really, I am."

I sighed. Had I really expected passive Mary to last that long? "In case you haven't noticed, which is entirely possible due to the lack of a mirror, the giant bruise on the side of your face is more colorful than a bag of skittles." I argued, trying to drive some sense into her. "And unless you think sever brain swelling is fun, I suggest you pay a little visit to man inside the big red truck." She groaned, but finally trudged over to the ambulance. As I followed her, Stan came up beside us.

"God Mary, what happened to you?" He grimaced at the sight of her bruise.

Mary shrugged. "The man had a mean right hook." A medic took one look at her, and then dragged her towards the back of the ambulance.

"I'll say." Stan agreed. "Does it hurt much?"

"What do you think Stan?" She cocked her head, giving him the oh so familiar sarcasm glare. "Though, according to doofus over here" she pointed to me "the side of my face is as fruity as the rainbow." She blinked as the medic shone a flashlight into her eyes, and then tenderly touched the side of her face.

"You're fine, miss." He explained after a moment. "You just have a nasty bruise. Put a bit of ice on it to keep the swelling down, but other than that it's nothing serious." Mary thanked him quickly, rising to her feet and striding down the sidewalk. As I trailed her, Stan charged ahead of us and blocked Mary's path. The look on his face was anything but pleasant. As I took my place at Mary's side, I knew the chastising that would come.

An abrupt ending, I know. I apologize, but I promise it will become more clear once I add the third chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3. FYI, this is from Stan's perspective. We don't know nearly enough about Stan, and while there are Marshall fics galore, I think it's time that Stan had his few moments of fame. Not a lot of action, but a bit of time spent in Stan's head.**

**This one kinda got away from me at the end (you'll see what I mean when you get there). Please don't laugh and throw rocks. **

**R&R would be highly appreciated. **

As soon as the doc had cleared Mary, she took off running. Now where in hell did she think she was going? I leapt ahead, blocking off Mary's path. "Mary, we need to talk." I spoke, putting just a little force in my words.

Mary sighed, visibly annoyed. "What is it Stan?" She demanded. " Yes, I made a booboo. So go ahead, punish me if it makes you feel all high and mighty like the good boss that you are. But just know that if this exact situation were to happen tomorrow, I would not do a damn thing differently."

"Except duck." Marshall remarked slyly, glancing at her colorful bruise. She shot him an irritated look, but it held no threat, and he merely grinned in return. Mary tried to storm off, but I grabbed her arm before she could escape. If anyone could shoot daggers from the eyes, it would be Mary. Underneath that not so calm exterior, I knew there was another, even less calm interior just itching for the chance to really rip into me. God, but as difficult as that woman really is…I can't help but to admire her. She's got more balls than anyone I know and makes a damn fine Marshal, even if she does sometimes make life a living hell for me.

"Mary." I said again, returning her furious stare with one more calm and direct. "You're a hard ass, and I wouldn't want it any other way." That elicited a small, acknowledging grin on her part. "But believe it or not, I kinda like you, especially when you're alive. I want you to keep it that way. Are we clear?" There was such a fine line when talking to Mary. I hoped I had adequately conveyed my will for her to behave, without angering her to the point of blatantly ignoring me.

Mary nodded, seeming to understand that I wasn't truly angry. "Fine, yeah." She agreed. "I'll do my best to keep this heart of mine pumping."

"And keep that brain oxygenated." Marshall quipped. Mary and I both glanced at him. "What?" He asked, like he hadn't said anything odd at all. "A pumping heart is the least of your problems if your brain has already died of oxygen deprivation. You can slap on a pacemaker, but they don't make artificial brains."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Any other body parts that I should pay particular attention to?" She asked.

"Eh…Your spinal cord, but only if you care about being able to walk and maintain bowel control." He replied, dripping with his usual dry humor.

"Just keep that entire body safe, okay?" I added. "I'd hate to have to reprimand you for dying."

"You got it, Stan man." Mary cocked her head, and began to walk off to lord knows where. Before Marshall could follow her I called him over.

"What is it?" He asked, watching Mary leave.

" What happened to Mary?" I asked. "Why wasn't she outside when we arrived?"

Marshall glanced around before speaking. "She was in the basement." He replied, a bit more somber than usual. I leaned in, intent on the story. "I got down there, and she was tied to a chair, unconscious." Marshall glared at his feet as he spoke, to no surprise. A chill went through me, thinking how eerily familiar this seemed. "I woke her up" he continued "but when she came to consciousness, she freaked out. Flashbacks, she told me. I untied her, and then we came outside, to the ambulance." When he finished, he looked at me. He was flushed slightly, with an intense gleam in his eye. I knew that look on his face. He cared for Mary, I could see that plain as day. I wish I that in my career I could have had a partner like Marshall. He was so utterly devoted to Mary, so protective …He would do anything for her, no questions asked, anytime of the day. He could by dying, and if she so much as wanted a cup of coffee, he would get it for her. Mary was a lucky soul, to have someone like Marshall watching her back and putting up with all of her crap. It takes a seriously strong will to put up with her crap, I should know.

Of course, I can't help but think this partnership is more than one way. On the surface it may seem that Mary takes and Marshall gives. But there's more, like some deep underground river. Oh lord, wow, don't I sound all deep and meditative now, with my deep underground river metaphor crap.

But honestly…Marshall would be lost without Mary. She's the one that takes the initiative, and forms all the plans. She's his crazy lunatic mother hen. She's that bit of adventure in his life, the unexpected, the dangerous. A loner cowboy's wild mustang, ridden for the thrill.

Oh god. I just metaphored Marshall riding Mary. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

That is wrong on one too many levels.

Even though I know they want to.

**Shipper much? Hell yeah. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four. **

**This chapter is from Mary's perspective. **

**I'm sorry for such the long hiatus. I really don't know why I let this go without updating for such a long time. **

**I also want to thank those of you who reviewed my story. I haven't forgotten you. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I don't quite yet know how to respond ( I mean that in the literal sense, not that I have writer's block). Again, thank you for reviewing. It gives me so much motivation when I see people enjoy reading what I have written**

You know how I mentioned earlier that I was having a freakin' bad day? Well, I forgot to tell you that, without fail, whenever I think my day stinks worse than a garbage man's pits, something comes along to prove me wrong. And so now you know, that just when I think my life can't get any worse, it always does.

And so I stormed down the sidewalk to where my car was parked, in silence, my emotions too intense to allow myself much thought. It was only when he appeared beside me that I noticed Marshall had caught up. "You done reporting to daddy?" I asked, a bit more nip in my voice than I intended. Marshall gave me one of his sidelong glances.

"Stan's just looking out for you, Mary" Marshall replied. "He's worried."

I glared at him, still not entirely impressed with those two gossiping behind my back. "He could have just asked me what happened."

"And you would have lied and said you were fine, or given him some sarcastic remark that didn't even answer his question."

Damn. That man really knew me. "I _am_ fine" I shot back, trying to sound truthful.

I received yet another glance from Marshall, and this one reeked of 'yeah, right.'

"Look Marshall, I'll be fine." I argued, though I didn't feel fine. I felt…I didn't know how I felt. Angry? Afraid? Relieve? Saddened? It was hard to tell, my mind was so clouded and busy, like I couldn't focus on just one thought. I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling a few stray locks behind my ears. "I just need a bit of a rest, is all."

I looked at Marshall. There was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes, and his lips drawn tight like he was thinking.

"Oh god Marshall, don't go all soppy puppy dog on me." That came out as an angry growl. "Seriously, I can take care of myself. I deal with things, that's what I do." Marshall was silent for a moment, his features unchanging, when suddenly he turned to me.

"That's the thing, Mary." He whispered. "You can't, not all the time. You're tough, but you're not a superhero."

"What do you know?" I quipped. "Isn't it possible I have an alter ego and that, at night, I dress up in tight spandex and leather and fight crime with my super powers on the streets of Albuquerque?"

Marshall grimaced at the suggestion, and then turned away, disappointed and silent. So I had won this battle. My powers of avoidance had successfully fought off all of Marshall's attempts to make me talk. But as I watched him walk beside me, his expression dark and clouded, I realized it didn't feel like a victory. He was only looking out for me in the best way that he could. And as meddlesome as he was, I couldn't hold it against him. Well, at least not for long.

The rest of the walk to my car was spent in awkward silence. Marshall called the tow truck from his cell, and then glanced at me. "They should be here in about 15 minutes."

"Thanks Marshall." I sat on the hood, rubbing my throbbing temples. Warily I looked at him. The right expression (or should I say, the wrong expression) had the potential to nudge Marshall right back into a spiel about how I needed someone to hold my hand, hug me close, tuck me in at night, blah blah blah blah blah. But he just returned the glance, with a small grin, and then stared off again into the distance without saying a word.

I hated this silence, but at least it was safer than talking. The last thing I wanted was to have Marshall pry into my life and find all my hurts and failures. I was barely hold myself together as it is. I couldn't have him see what an absolute train wreck I actually was. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him glancing at me, only to turn quickly away. I shot out a prayer to whichever god was available, asking that the tow truck arrive soon so that this awkward silence would be over. I'm pretty certain all the deities were busy playing Tetris or something, because the tow truck failed to show up, and Marshall kept stealing glances of me.

_Son of a bitch_ I growled to myself as I felt Marshall's eyes roam over my face yet again. "What?" I snapped, glaring at him. "What is it? Is there something on my face?"

"Your bruise" he replied, completely unphased by my anger. "It seems to grow more colorful every time I look at it. Oh wait, is that Rainbow Bright? I think it is" He grinned, cutting through the tension like a knife. This was the Marshall I knew and loved, the sharp-witted, dry humor supplying bastard who was my best friend.

"Wipe that smirk off your face." I retorted, finally willing to crack a smile (albeit a small one). His sly Marshall grin lingered, refusing to fade.

"So you're going to try to ignore what happened down there?" He asked, that small smile still on his face. "Just forget about it and push it away? Bottle it up?" He didn't look at me.

"Goddammit Marshall!" I muttered angrily. Was he not going to let this go? "Fine. You know what? Here it is. I'll tell you what happened. I got knocked out and tied up by some jackass gangsters. I woke up and freaked out. Yes I was scared. But now I'm over that. Ok? I'm not going to need therapy over this." I glared at him intensely, daring him to reply.

And son of a bitch, guess what he did.

He replied. Goddammit.

"Why were you scared?" He asked, prying into my life like a professional crowbar.

"I don't have to answer that." I growled in response.

"It's a very simple question." Marshall remarked, calmly meeting my furious gaze. It was a battle of wills now, each of us waiting for the other to give in. The tension mounted with each second, building upon itself until it seemed tangible. But just when I thought Marshall was going to turn away, the tow truck pulled up besides us, breaking both of our concentrations.

"Would this be the car in need of a tow?" The driver called out the window. He was a heavy set middle aged man, with a dark tan and wild black beard, peppered with white.

"Yeah." I replied sullenly. "Hook her up." I gave the car a slap on the hood as the operator hopped out of his vehicle. As he started unwinding the hooks, Marshall nudged me.

"Come on, let's head back." He suggested. "The SUV is still on sight. I'll take you back to the office." Marshall motioned for me to follow as he started walking, not giving me a chance to argue. I shot an angry glare at the back of his head, but trotted to catch up.

The first few minutes were spent in a slightly awkward silence. I could feel Marshall beside me building up another argument. Just went he opened his mouth to let it boil over, I stopped him.

"Swear to god Marshall, I am not in the mood for this touchy feely crap." I could feel anger flush my cheeks as I glared at him. "Don't even try it."

He glanced at me, waiting for the initial surge of rage leave my body. "I'm sorry." He murmured. That really surprised me.

"What?" I asked, my annoyance replaced with uncertainty.

"I shouldn't have pried" he explained. "You have your own pace of doing things, and I shouldn't force you to conform to my standards. I was wrong to push you, and I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me." He put it so bluntly, so plainly, that I couldn't help but marvel. I walked beside him, searching for the appropriate words. "So are we good?" He asked cautiously, searching my expression for any sign of rejection. The look of remorse and sorrow that clouded his face was painful to see.

"Yeah" I replied. A relieved smiled washed across his face. "But only until your next stupid move." I added, trying my hand at some humor. "Then all bets are off." I was rewarded with his smirk.

"Agreed." He replied. "Our friendship has been secured until the next time I act like a compete jackass. Shake on it?" He offered his hand.

As I shook his hand, his broad calloused palm warm beneath my own, I realized three things. The first was that _I _was the jackass of this situation. I had taken his attempts at goodwill and blown them so out of proportion that I had deluded myself into believing I had been wronged. The second was that Marshall had taken all the blame, despite that he had to have known he was not at fault. The third, and perhaps the most profound, was that I realized there were no words, no thoughts nor actions, that would keep Marshall from being my best friend. Though the winds of time may ravage the earth, we would always be a team.

And most painful of all these things, I realized that I didn't deserve him, not at all.

**So there you have it, the end of chapter four. I meant to keep all the monologueing (is that a word?) for the end of the story, like in the episodes, but this one just kind of fell out of me. **

**This one felt a bit more unsteady than my other chapters, so any constructive criticism on how I can make it better is very appreciated. **


End file.
